Say You'll Remember
by GhostlyMayhem
Summary: His back was pressed up against a wall now, what was once his finger puppet standing just inches away from him. With each step she took, a buried memory was recovered from its grave. Salad Fingers/Marjory. One-shot. Slight sexual content.


**...**

**Say You'll Remember**

_'I will love you till the end of time._  
_I would wait a million years._  
_Promise you'll remember that you're mine._  
_Baby can you see through the tears?_  
_Love you more, than those bitches before._  
_Say you'll remember (oh baby), say you'll remember..._  
_I will love you till the end of time.'_

_- "Blue Jeans", Lana Del Rey_

**... **

"M-Marjory?" the green man stuttered nervously, watching as the woman before him (who once was a simple puppet on his finger) moved closer, a lustful glint in her blue eyes. Such lovely blue eyes, like... like the blue skies during the summer. But in such a war-torn wasteland, summer didn't exist, nor did the lively blue skies that he barely remembered. Everything there was grey and dry; dead and ruined. Everything but that one major piece of what used to be his life standing before him, slowly coming closer...

"Don't you remember this?" she asked him.

_No._ No he didn't... Maybe he should have remembered, but the long, lonely years after The Great War caused him to forget everything and anything from what was once his normal past. Now a part of that past was standing before him, moving steadily closer as he moved away, anxious, frightful. His back was pressed up against a wall now, what was once his finger puppet standing just inches away from him, and with each step she took, a buried memory was recovered from its grave; multiple graves which resided in the depths of his atrophic mind. If there could ever be an epitaph written about his mind, his past, it would surely read: _"Here lies the memories and past of Samuel Baxter."_

Hmmm..._ Samuel Baxter._ Now that name rung eerily familiar to Salad Fingers. Was _he_ Samuel Baxter? Maybe... he couldn't quite tell: some of the memories, the flashes they came with were faint; distant, just barely reaching the surface. At the moment, that name didn't matter to him. What mattered was Marjory, -with her long red hair and lovely purple dress that hugged her hour-glass figure-, standing before him. Perfectly rounded, rosy cheeks, heart-shaped lips... and those blue eyes... All that mattered was her blue eyes, and the vague flashes they caused in his red eyes, each flash holding a memory he realized might be his. Each memory was quick, lasting only a second. Each flash involved Marjory... and another man. It appeared to be the same man each time. Light brown hair, pale white skin... The man too seemed familiar... And that name, Samuel Baxter, echoed along with the man in each memory.

If he was Samuel Baxter, did that mean he was once that young, pale, brown-haired man in those memory flashes? So distant and faint those flashes appeared, that he couldn't be quite sure who he was anymore. His connection to his past was weak and tenuous.

And now here he was, confronted completely with a prominent figure from his past... Two of her thin, delicate hands coming up to tentatively stroke his chest. He tensed under her touch, eyes wide, darting wildly. "W-What are you-?"

"You remember this..." Marjory said quietly, that glint in her blue eyes becoming clearer, like two fine crystals that reflected the past. _Their_ past. She leaned in closer, her eyes just inches from his. Now this did seem familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Those red-tinted, heart-shaped lips of hers brushed lightly against his cheek, like the soft touch of butterfly wings against his green skin.

_Back away. Move. Go away._ His mind was screaming these words at her, but his body refused to let the words spill out. A part of him hated this unfamiliar feeling, yet another, more human part of him seemed to secretly enjoy this... _feeling._ This sensation that caused his past self, -hidden deep within the man ruined by war-, to whine for more... How long had his past identity longed for her lips? How long had it been since he had even just a taste of her lips?

_Yes, it's been to long..._

Her lips were steadily moving closer toward his own lips, and the inner part of his past-self was slowly coming back to the surface, wanting just one last taste, one last breath of the world he once knew before the Great War tore it all apart.

And Marjory, with her body pressed up against his, was ready to give him that last breath of the past.

One can only guess if Marjory was really there before him, though it was quite evident and obvious that she, in reality, was long gone. But with Salad Fingers, what was really just his imagination became more real than anything reality had to offer. She was there, he could feel it on her lips as his met hers, as the warmth of her body traveled through his own. This had to be real, otherwise he wouldn't be feeling such... _arousal._ Just the feel of her body pressed up against him made him tense with pleasure as he wrapped his arms around her now, drawing her in, becoming more willing as each kiss brought a new memory, and with new memory came a new piece of the puzzle that slowly built his past back together. He was remembering now, every moment spent with his past love. From their first time to their last; he yearned for _more._

Somehow, as time went blindly on, they ended up together on the floor. Lying underneath Marjory, Salad Fingers looked up at her with wide eyes; anxiously waiting, watching. She gave him a small, gentle smile as her hands reached back, unzipping her dress. Despite how nervous he became as he watched the now unzipped purple dress fall past her shoulders, revealing two sizable, milky white breasts, he couldn't help but _stare._ This sensation growing inside his chest at the mere sight of her unmentionables was stirring a new form of pleasure inside him. It was enticing and electrifying. This wasn't like the feeling of rust or needles against his long fingers, this he knew the second his shaky hands came up to gently stroke the pale skin around one nipple, then moving on to the other. Her skin was smooth under his fingers; the complete opposite of rust. And his touch was light, hesitant against her skin...

This was a better feeling indeed, much better than rust. Because even a single stroke of Marjory's pale skin brought on more memories for Salad Fingers. Memories which made him even more willing to continue. Memories that made him yearn for more than just a touch... He needed _more._

"Marjory," he breathed out, almost in a euphoric manner, glancing back up at her face which peered down at him. His eyes softened, no longer wide and frightened. They were gentle and accepting; ready and willing.

The smile never left her face, her hands coming up to the collar of his shirt. "Do you remember this now?"

He didn't even need to think over the answer this time. "Yes." With that one word, the truth, out, he allowed her to tug his shirt from his body before he pulled her in, greedily this time.

_Time..._ It stood still in the room. With her dress discarded on the floor, and eventually his shirt and pants, time didn't matter anymore... Together they traveled back in time; a time when he was Samuel Baxter, and Marjory Stewart-Baxter was his loving wife.

It was almost as though neither of them had left... As though the years apart, the years he spent alone in that tiny shack after the Great War, never happened.

_"I remember everything... I remember... I..."_

Suddenly, he didn't remember. A part of his brief connection was shattered. It was... _gone._ Just like that.

His eyelids fluttered open. The hard, wooden floor... he could feel it against his bare back. The air seemed colder than before as he sat up, taking notice of his clothes lying in a messy pile a few feet away.

_What happened?_ he wondered, glancing around for a moment until his eyes caught sight of the small red-headed finger puppet lying beside him. _Marjory._

"Marjory," he said quietly, gently lifting her up off the floor until she was lying flat on his palm. "How did you end up there?"

The finger puppet called _Marjory_ did not respond. And Salad Fingers was left to simply wonder why the room felt slightly different than before...

He had forgotten.

* * *

**A/N: I love this pairing. It's quite obvious these two were married. How can you not see the evidence in the episodes? XD **

**Yup, used another Lana Del Rey song. I find that the lyrics in her songs kinda fits Salad&Marjory's relationship. Like how Marjory will wait for him and all that other stuff... **

**Yeah, when I love a pairing, I write smut for it. I don't go far out into detail (simply because I don't have the courage to yet). **

**I don't like reading my own writing, so if anyone likes this pairing I'd love to see a fanfic from someone about this pairing! We need more Salad Fingers stories, and we especially need more Salad Fingers/Marjory stories. 3**

**Anyway, please review if you can! :)**


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